


miss missing you

by tgrsndshrks



Category: Marilyn Manson (Band)
Genre: Angst, Blow Jobs, Crossdressing, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Masturbation, Past Relationship(s), Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-15
Updated: 2015-09-15
Packaged: 2018-04-20 22:03:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4803875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tgrsndshrks/pseuds/tgrsndshrks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“If you don't close your mouth and quit gaping you're going to catch a fly in it,” Tim remarks, still holding the cigarette in his mouth as he smooths his hair down. He plucks the cigarette out and turns around. “I like this dress, actually. The bow's nice.”</i>
</p><p> </p><p>or, brian has some feelings while jerking off to tim in a dress after filming the (s)AINT video.</p>
            </blockquote>





	miss missing you

**Author's Note:**

> i'm a disgrace
> 
> set golden age of grotesque era, specifically the (s)AINT video shoot
> 
> title from the song by fall out boy

Brian doesn't even realize he's doing it at first. He's not sure if it's an accident, or if he just picked him subconsciously because of who he appears as in the corner of Brian's peripheral. 

Of course, Brian makes excuses. Brian built his career out of bullshitting. He can't be doing it, because Tim is blonde. Tim has short hair. Tim is good at makeup, and when he smears his lipstick it's on purpose and not from when he wipes his hand across his face after doing a line.

Brian is compiling a list of words that sound offensive but aren't when Tim comes walking into the room. Brian clenches his pen in a tight fist, watching white tulle flow around an otherwise masculine body, and he swallows thickly. Tim is unassumingly genderless in the dress, aside from the clear lack of breasts in the bust of it, enough to make anyone take a second guess. He holds an unlit cigarette between streaked red lips and is sliding rings onto his black painted fingers. Brian doesn't realize he's staring till he hears Tim snort a laugh.

“If you don't close your mouth and quit gaping you're going to catch a fly in it,” Tim remarks, still holding the cigarette in his mouth as he smooths his hair down. He plucks the cigarette out and turns around. “I like this dress, actually. The bow's nice." 

“Yeah,” Brian says, because for once in his life he's not sure what to say. All he can think of is matted dreads hanging down to the bow and quotation marks tattooed under the straps. “Are you gonna wear boots?” Brian asks. He's almost afraid of the answer.

“Probably,” Tim says. He spares a glance around the room to check that no crew is listening. “After?”

“Maybe,” Brian says. He and Tim have been fucking around ever since he joined the band, really, which is what's got Brian the tiniest bit stuck.

 _Projecting_ , Brian adds to his list, after _masticate_.

It's not that Brian isn't used to being naked in front of people. He's just not used to being naked in front of people while also pretending to jerk off to his dress-wearing genderfuck of a bassist on camera. He's already shot his footage with the actual girl, and now here's Tim, all lit cigarette and lace, and Brian's sweating. He tells himself it's the filming lights.

Tim stands in the doorway, facing away from him, and in the split second that he lowers his head down Brian sees who he almost wishes it was. It's not that he doesn't love Tim, because he probably does, considering Brian falls in love with everyone, but it's still the loss and the words that have been ringing in his ears for two years now.

Tim walks over and hitches a boot up on the edge of the mattress, draping his skirt over Brian's head, and Brian chews into his lip. He pushes his face into Tim's thigh, probably smearing it with lipstick, and inhales. It's a familiar place. Comfortable. He hears Tim taking a drag and he pulls the skirt back, blowing smoke in Brian's face. Brian's hand pumps empty in the air above his lap and he pretends to moan as Tim touches his face, turns around, and rucks the skirt up enough for Brian to reach under and grab a handful of his ass. He hears Tim's scoff as he flicks his ashes, and Brian feels it low in his hips, his cock threatening to jerk awake.

Which is, mercifully, when Asia calls cut so Tim can get another cigarette. Brian has time to get his shit together but he doesn't. He sits on the edge of the bed and thinks about things like cockroaches and Garth Brooks to get his mind off it.

When they do the second take, Brian is regretting putting that long bridge in the middle of the song. It's about three minutes too long, he thinks, as he's looking up slack jawed at Tim with the cigarette hanging from his lips. Tim reaches down and puts his fingers in Brian's open mouth.

Brian wonders what the point is in putting his clothes back on knowing they're going to come back off as soon as Tim has him alone.

Their hotel room is just a floor down from the penthouse they're shooting in. Brian reluctantly puts his pants back on but doesn't button his shirt. Tim wears the dress. Brian fumbles with the door key and Tim shoves him on the bed, rucking the skirt up to his thighs.

“It sucks getting teased, huh,” Tim says, and Brian actually manages to snort a laugh as he grabs Tim's underwear and pulls them down, off.

“Don't even try that shit with me,” Brian says, reaching back into his own jeans. He starts working himself, for real this time, and Tim throws his leg up onto the bed again as Brian jerks off, mouthing lipstick kisses into Tim's thigh.

“I saw you,” Tim says. “When you almost got hard.” He laces his fingers in Brian's hair, pushes him closer to his cock.

“Hard not to when you're in a dress,” Brian admits, and Tim grins.

“I know,” he says. “It's understandable.” Brian just nods and smirks, pushing his face into the space between Tim's cock and his thigh, kissing before swallowing him down. Tim braces himself against the wall with a hand, his mouth falling open. Brian just works his mouth over him and keeps his pace on himself, letting Tim drape the skirt over his head. Tim's hand holds the back of his neck, keeping his mouth where he wants it. And with Brian's head under the skirt, he can feel it again.

Back in Fort Lauderdale, on the couch in his parents' basement. The sticky Florida heat and the hands in his hair, thin body writhing under him. His tongue in places it shouldn't have been. Brand new dreads and guitar calloused fingers touching Brian's lip ring, and Brian sucking to wet them. His head under a green dress.

“Fuck,” Tim says, low enough under his breath to sound like _him_.

But when Tim comes, it's not right. Tim tastes too clean, and when he pulls the skirt off Brian's head he swallows. He looks up at the wrong makeup, the wrong hair. The shock of blonde on Tim's head falls forward as he leans down to grab Brian's cock and finish him off. And when Brian comes, the wrong name comes out.

Brian doesn't open his eyes for probably thirty seconds after he comes down. Tim lets go and Brian waits, waits for angry footsteps or a door to slam or a slap in the face. But there's nothing. He cracks an eye open and there's Tim, still standing there, a small smile on his face.

“It's alright,” Tim says. “I know. I've known all along.”

And Brian doesn't cry, but he lays back on the bed wordlessly, staring at the ceiling. He feels the bed shift as Tim sits down, and Tim's hand rests on his leg.

“You should call him,” he says.

Brian can't help but wonder if his number is the same.


End file.
